My Hero

My husband, my hero. Mark would have certainly shrugged that title away. We often debated about newscasters overuse of the word “Hero”. Even the people being hailed as heros on TV would often say “I’m no hero, I’m just doing my job!” “See,” he’d say, “they don’t think they’re heros either.” Mark wanted to save the word “hero” for someone who gave up their life, or at least, risked their life for another person. Someone fighting in the war that sacrificed themselves for the good of many would be a hero, or when a couple was being robbed and one offered their life for their loved one. “That is a true hero” he’d say. And I knew he’d do that for me.

“Trooper” was the word Mark liked to use. If you were a Trooper, you’d finished a big job, you’d accomplished a difficult task, you’d persevered when it wasn’t easy. He’d come in after I cleaned the kitchen and say “Trooper J-Ann” with a big smile on his face. He even called himself a “Trooper Scooper” when he shoveled snow. After one especially big snow this last February, he was outside by four AM shoveling our driveway and sidewalk, then on to our office for our whole parking lot and all down ninth to the corner and around for the two little houses there. Then to his Meals on Wheels delivery homes and the Ice Busters homes he volunteered to shovel. I used to get worried, because at sixty five, he was getting older and a snow blower would have helped. But he insisted that doing it by hand was “good for him’ and kept him strong. He scooped for four hours that day, from four AM to eight AM. Then he came home frozen, promising to “take the quickest shower ever” and drive me to work so I didn’t have to drive in the snow. That was just typical Mark. He always looked out for me.

He looked out for so many people. People keep sharing stories of how he went out of his way to help them, and how he made them feel special. He certainly did that for all in our family. He was so good to my Mom in her final years. He’d drive all over to pick up a treasure she’d found on Craig’s List, or bring her Perkin’s Biscuits and gravy just because it sounded good to her that morning. Our five year old grandson, Colton, tells me every day about something Grandpa Mark taught him.

A friend told me that Mark adored me. Yes, he did. And I adored him right back. I didn’t know it was that obvious to others, but we knew how we felt. I admired him so much. He was the smartest person I’ve ever known. I know I’ve never known anyone as honest, and ethical, or as kind and caring. So his final sacrifice shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

After his fall and neck compression, and his unsuccessful surgery, he was facing the rest of his life as a quadriplegic. But his brain and head were just fine. Our family knew we wanted to bring him home, even if it was going to be difficult. I would hire nurses to help. We would build a wheelchair ramp, lifts and a special shower. We would make it work. At least Mark could be surrounded by all of our love and support. He tried to be optimistic in our family video chats. But every day that the feeling didn’t come back was so disappointing. The physical therapists worked with him to keep the pathways open and he tried so hard to move his foot or hand. His injury was so high that it effected his swollowing, which often leads to pneumonia. So on the third morning, he got pneumonia. It continued to get worse and they used a bi-pap to push more air into his lungs. But that made talking more difficult.

Our daughters were gathered at home to have another video talk with Mark. It had only been three days and two nights apart, but we rarely were apart from each other in our forty four years together. The new hospital regulations didn’t allow any visitors. Concerns about COVID were still prevalent. So when the doctor called, I thought it was to discuss the video chat. She explained that things were worse and the needed to put him on a ventilator. What? Don’t you have to be in a medically induced coma to do that? How would he be weaned off? Will it keep happening? All bad news. I asked what Mark thinks and she said they hadn’t talked to him about it. What?

In a normal time, I would have never left his side. We could be talking about this together, making decisions together, like we always do. She tells me that if we choose not to do the ventilator, and do “comfort care” only, he can have two visitors. I ask her to talk to Mark and see what he thinks. When she comes back, she says he has chosen comfort care. No ventilator. No more extreme means to keep him alive. We do one more conference call with Nick on a phone and Mark on our computer. He sees our whole family gathered and sees Colton run by. “I see you Colton!” The little boys are worried about the scrape on his nose and are being shy. Two year old Mason gives the computer a kiss on Mark’s Owie. We ask Mark over and over if he’s sure. Telling him we still want him around even if it’s only his head. But he says he wants to be the old Mark not the new Mark. I ask him if he’s just doing this so we can be with him again and he smiles and nods his head. I ask him if he’s made peace with God and he nods his head.

The doctor told us that only two could visit him a day. I’m sitting between our two daughters and I tell her, no, I am not choosing between my daughters. And my son is on his way in an hour or so and will want to be there too. They have their rules. But I have my family and I fight for all of us to be with him. Eventually, they give in to this Momma Bear. The girls and I get to spend precious time with Mark before Nick gets there and they let him visit. When he walks in, Mark says, “Now I have all my “Critters” here.” He was ready to go. We wanted to hold on. We wanted to keep talking to him. But he was ready.

He had had time to reflect on his life and his future. And our future taking care of him. We told him again, we would take care of him if he wanted to stay. “It would be a Suffer” he said. Do you mean YOU would suffer? “No, for all of you.” He didn’t mind suffering himself, but he was worried about us. He knew it would be a huge, life changing endever to care for him, and he didn’t want us to do it. Typical Mark, still taking care of us .

And so, my dear Mark, the love of my life, choose to quietly slip away, surrounded by his loving family. He choose to sacrifice his life for ours. I asked the doctor if this is what she would choose for her husband if she were in this situation. She told me, I don’t know that, but I would hope I could be as brave as Mark is, and choose this if it were me. The nurses told us what a brave decision it was too.

But this was just typical Mark. He put everyone else first. He didn’t want to be a bother or have a fuss over him. People always talk about how good someone was when they die. but he really was a gentle, kind man. What he did in his final hours was put all of us first. Especially me.

He will live on in our hearts and lives and he will always be My Hero.